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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818158">Flowerpot Drabble Drawer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HonorverseFan/pseuds/HonorverseFan'>HonorverseFan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble Collection, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:01:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27818158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HonorverseFan/pseuds/HonorverseFan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This serves as a repository for any drabbles I write, most of them will probably be inspired by the amazing folks at the Harry/Fleur Discord server (discord．gg/Np2zjAH). Expect varying genres.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Price We Pay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Author’s note 1: This isn’t going to be a single story, here I’ll be posting various drabbles that I’ll get inspired to write, but won’t have the time or guts to write into a full-fledged story.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Author’s Note 2: This drabble was inspired by a prompt on the Flowerpot Discord server (discord．gg/Np2zjAH) written by the indomitable DavidTheAthenai. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Original prompt:</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The Price We Pay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was aware of little else but that. His very blood burned as it rushed through his veins, running around in a panic, trying to save him, to make him feel alive. He laid on the floor, arm pierced by cruel bone, next to him lay the slain basilisk, a pool of black blood forming around him, flowing freely from the head of his beaten foe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small pile of ashes shifted nearby, and from it a mournful cry came. Another form stirred nearby, and soon joined in the laments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see nothing but a blur of shifting colour, hear nothing but a symphony of cacophonies, sounds both real and imagined, remembered and new. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A blur of red shifted in an out of focus as the world darkened around him. He knew everything was about to end, and so he closed his eyes and breathed deep, the pain had not gone, but it was not bothering anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry had never thought about death before this moment. Not really, but as he drew that one last breath, he thought there was nothing so sweet as that lungful of musty, damp air, and something deep inside him rebelled against the notion of extinction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His world faded to black and he breathed out. There was nothing he could do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of the blackness a cloud of red came, and it took form. He could not see much more than the suggestion of a man, staring down at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'Is there not?'</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He was confused. His head spun, he could not tell up from down, nor he could tell where his body began and where it ended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'Is there really nothing you could do?' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice sounded like nothing he could describe, beautiful and enticing beyond measure, it sounded like cloudy days and the swish of a speeding broom, like the deep hum of the great hall in the morning, like the rays of sun playing on the curtains of his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'From where I am from, Harry, there are a few things you could do. I would just need a promise from you, do you agree?' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The feeling that came from the voice was overwhelming, and so, with the thought of a life lost he thought a single word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'Yes' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his eyes opened</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry lived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His life changed little after his near death experience. He could remember little of that day other than the voice, and even then, he did not remember the words, only the feeling, and the flash of red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn't help but panic every time he caught a glimpse of Ginny's hair by surprise. Good thing Ron's colouring was lighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apart from that feeling of dread at that particular shade, and the weird horses he could now see pulling Hogwarts carriages, there were little reminders of that day. The scar where the fang of the Basilisk had pierced his arm was very slight, and most of the time he did not notice it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione seemed to think that it looked like a scourge, for some reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>=== </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was October the 30th, and Harry was freezing. The only part of him that was not utterly cold was his right arm. Maybe it was some lingering effect from the poison that had nearly boiled him inside out, but his arm was always warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The foreign delegations were supposed to be arriving at any moment, and the sooner the better, as far as he was concerned. Almost prophetically, Durmstrang made a very Davy Jones appearance, and a few minutes later the -Over the top, If you asked him- carriage that carried Beauxbatons delegation landed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt no cold anymore, but only a pleasant warmth. The excitement seemed to be contagious to that degree. The doors opened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sea spilled from inside, silk shimmering under torchlight. his skin started to heat even more. He started to sweat. From the sea a pearl rose and his veins burned with such strength that he must be about to steam. He was paralyzed at the feeling, remembering memories that did not exist anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He caught a glance of indescribable eyes and his blood bursted into fiery song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The excited chatter of the crowd was indistinguishable, barely a bee's hum, but with each step of the stranger a loose word reached his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'...Remember...' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noise, voices mixing. A whisper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'...You said...' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drops of water hit the floor as the snow melted </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'...a promise...' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The neighing of hungry and tired horses </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'...price...' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Water lapping in the distance </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'...life...' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crackle of fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'...love...' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Such a cold place," said the lips below blue eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>End of Prompt</b>
</p><p>
  <span>And now the drabble:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was reassured by the presence of his long-time companion, Fleur Delacour, at his side. Even time couldn’t dull his reaction to her, his breath quickened, his blood sang. He knew she was the one for him. And more unbelievably, she chose him, to be with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bind my life to yours.” Her words still echoed in his mind, he heard them every night in his dreams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just as reliably as Fleur’s presence caused his heart to flutter, made him want to burst into song… so did it cause his scourge-mark to burn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took much effort, meditation and studying his own mind for him to recall the deal he had made in desperation. Of course he told Fleur whose eyes burned with passion, declaring for all the world to see her intentions, before she kissed him senseless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After she calmed down, she fiercely assured him that no matter what deals a devil forced on him under duress, they would stay together and live their lives in full.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Fleur’s wise grandmother reminded them, when they told her of their woes, where there are devils, there are those who fight them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so they ventured forth and after many adventures that would make lesser men and women quail, they now stood in an old temple, a Spartan looking building with little decoration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In front of them, a giant statue of a handsome man in maille stood holding a sword, five wings splayed behind him, his visage fierce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together they knelt, holding hands and offering their prayers, two souls scarred by devious evil, begging for the wrong visited upon them to be righted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-------(/\)------- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though nobody seemed to be in the temple, the braziers now lit up, providing warmth to the chilly building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world, for lack of a better word, blinked, and instead of the statue, a living figure stood before them. Were they not frozen, they’d avert their eyes from that awesome sight. Standing 20 feet tall, clad in golden maille and wielding a flaming sword, the figure commanded respect. And the five flaming wings moving behind his back made the figure fearsome indeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of the fierce visage of the statue, there appeared to be concern in his flaming eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Upon your heartfelt call I have come,” though 20 feet tall, his voice sounded gentle. “How have you been wronged?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so they told him the tale of Harry’s desperate struggle, of his Pyrrhic victory and of the “deal” forced upon a 12 year old boy by a devil. They told him of Fleur being haunted by a red figure in her dreams, of a horned fiend who dared call her his bride, who boasted of besting fate’s chosen one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The figure’s flaming eyes narrowed with each word spoken, a heavy frown marring his brow. When they finished, it took a few seconds for the deity to address them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wronged you have been, truly and gruesomely, by a fiend most foul. Your hearts beat for justice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At this moment, their hearts were pounding in their chests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I offer you a chance. I shall purge you of that infernal mark and of the stain you carry, young wizard. However, there is much evil in this world. And oppose it we must.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry and Fleur, both elated so far, nodded reverently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Walk out of this temple with my name on your lips and with my cause in your hearts. And I shall stand beside you, though you shall walk through shade and darkness, never shall you be alone. Do you accept?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur squeezed Harry’s hand, which she’d never let go during the entire encounter, and both nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well. Here, in this temple, kneeling in front of me, repeat these solemn vows:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I will avenge evil wrought upon the innocent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I will not give my word lightly, but once it is given, I will uphold a promise until my last breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those proven guilty must be punished for their crimes. I will not turn a blind eye to wrongdoing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rage is a virtue and a strength only when focused against the deserving. I will never seek disproportionate retribution.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Redemption finds hearts from even the cruelest origins. I will strive not to act upon prejudice against fellow mortals based on race or origin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With each vow sworn, Harry and Fleur felt their hearts beat faster, their eyes lit up with a flame not dissimilar to the one burning in the figure’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the vows were done and the figure bestowed them with a weighty gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stand now, my Oathsworn and present yourself to me. As you swore yourself to me, it is time to do my duty to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood tall, their spines straight. The tip of the figure’s flaming sword touched Harry’s arm, directly piercing the scourge-mark. The smell of sulphur arose, but no burning flesh. At Harry’s surprised look, the figure nodded and replied, “The righteous flame shall not burn an innocent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the sword’s tip touched Harry’s forehead and in righteous flame he was cleansed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-------(/\)------- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellatrix Lestrange rightfully considered herself a true master of the Cruciatus. She understood that curse better than any other mortal, whether its casting principles or the effects on the victim’s body. Many a time she had laughed at a foe she’d provoked into casting it at her, replying that righteous anger wasn’t enough. That they needed to mean for her to suffer, to relish in the act of causing suffering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had cut a bloody swathe in the forces arrayed against her Lord, her True Love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All that was in pursuit of Harry Potter, her Lord’s stubborn foe. He and his lover had vanished, even the vilest divination rituals couldn’t find them. The only sign she got were the entrails of the mudblood she used for the divination going up in flames.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she busied herself with hunting down Potter’s friends. And it worked, Potter and Delacour stood against her, strangely dressed. She noticed that both had a necklace in the form of a crimson wing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The battle was surprisingly short and one-sided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as her skin blistered and eyes bubbled, Bellatrix Lestrange finally admitted that the flames of righteous fury were enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-------(/\)------- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The devil Ahpuch was looking forward to the culmination of his long-term plan. It was laughably easy, with the resources available to him. Finding out the fated connection between the so-called Boy-Who-Lived and the person who was of real interest to him. A girl of Veela lineage, descended from divine blood. Though mixed with humans, her connection to the divine was still close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And thanks to a little flexibility and forcing a child into a deal, she would be delivered to him, by her supposed love to boot. It was all worth the effort he put into sabotaging the phoenix’s little scuffle with the basilisk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when the Veela girl gets delivered to him, broken and shattered by the betrayal of her fated, he would remake her, reshape her into his queen, one who would bear him children and elevate his station in Hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was now time for the boy to fulfil his part of the bargain, so Ahpuch went to the pre-arranged meeting place, an out of the way plain with nobody present who could interrupt his dealings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Potter and Delacour appeared promptly, but instead of the young man broken by his inner struggle or the innocent woman lured into his trap, both had the assured gait of warriors, their demeanor screaming their contempt. At their waists he beheld swords and around their necks, talismans of the crimson wing. That meddler.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see, young Potter that you have brought me my bride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrong, Ahpuch.” Potter put his fist on the pommel of his sword.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delacour continued when Potter fell silent, “This little meeting has a different purpose.” And she too readied herself to draw her blade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that how wizards honour their words? No matter, you are bound by our pact, Potter, and shall honour it whether you like it or not.” Ahpuch was hissing silently, his voice gaining a hypnotic quality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Devils deserve no honour.” Potter spat on the ground. “As for our pact, look for yourself.” He lifted the sleeve on his arm, instead of the scourge-mark, a burn scar in the shape of a wing greeted the devil’s unbelieving eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I will take what is mine by force!” The devil roared, splaying his wings, getting ready to fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our Lord’s flames were enough to maim an infernal duke and melt his palace to slag!” Delacour answered his challenge as her and Potter’s eyes changed to resemble burning embers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our flame will be enough for scum like you!” Potter finished and they both drew their swords. Their milky white blades bore runic inscriptions and the air around the edges shimmered before both blades were engulfed by flames. A pair of flaming wings was now splayed behind both Harry and Fleur as, with a war cry, they charged the fiend.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Facing the Stork</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a birthday drabble for dear Charlennette. Happy birthday, dear friend, and many happy returns! I’m very happy that you had decided to join the Flowerpot Discord that day. It’s been a real joy having you with us!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Celeste. On this name they have they have decided for their daughter fair. At Harry’s inquiry as to how she kept her wondrous figure, Fleur merely giggled, assuring him that it is the speciality of the Veela. The day they had both been expecting had come. On this day, they would welcome their wonderful daughter to the world.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Yet Fleur still seemed unconcerned, assuring Harry everything would be fine. And then, the until that time clear summer skies darkened. Storm clouds roiled over the Potter house. Lightning flashed, thunder boomed and a violent gust of wind banged open their windows.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Come out!” A deep voice shook the house, followed by a peal of thunder. A curious rumbling came from their front yard.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I stand alone, no one’s by my side!” The voice continued. Fleur paled and started shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Non, non, it can’t be true.” She kept murmuring.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I dare you, come out, you coward!” The whole house resonated with the challenge.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, ‘Arry! It is said that every Veela birth is a battle. To bring such beauty into the world, a beast must be beaten.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry put his callused hand on his wife’s shoulder and squeezed. “We have triumphed over worse odds, light of my heart. We shall overcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And so outside they went, burdened by their grim doom. The sight welcoming them brought them to a stop. Where their beautiful front yard once was, lovingly cared for by the young couple, now rose a circular arena. And inside, a beast stood, long of legs, covered in gleaming feathers sharp, its talons and the edges of its cruel beak glinting, powerful enough to shred steel. Its dead eyes turned to them.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Only the father may face my challenge. You must pay the price for laying with a Veela, mortal.” The voice, sounding as coming from underground, bringing forth a feeling of dampness and filth, came forth from the beast’s beak.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur paled even further at those words, her veins starkly visible through her now translucent skin. “I thought it a myth!” She wailed.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, and to bring this particular beauty into this filthy, corrupt world. The father must pay in blood.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“’Arry,” She took his right hand.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He brought her hand to his lips and smiled at his wife. “Whatever I have to face, it was worth it just to be with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He ushers her a few steps back and enters the arena. Yet unlike the time when he went to face the Dark Lord for the final time, there is a lightness to his steps. For has he not lived a good life?</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“So readily you enter here. Have you come to die?” The beast mocks him.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” The word was whispered, yet not even thunder could overpower the fateful sound.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Gryffin!” Harry outstretches his right arm forward. “Gryffin!” It is an ancient ritual he had learned a long time ago. “Gryffin” He clenches his fists. “Gryffindor! HO!” He brought his right arm up.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A lightning bolt struck from the skies, hitting his right fist. And there it was, gleaming so bright it hurt the eyes of the unworthy, the Sword of Gryffindor has come to aid its rightful wielder. Harry brought the long sword in front of his face in a salute to his foe. A change came over him, his hair now flew wildly, resembling a lion’s mane, black as night. In his green eyes, normally calm, bringing to mind an image of a peaceful forest, a crimson spark now glowed brightly.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And in thunder, wind and rain, the foes stood, measuring each other up. Harry assumed a longpoint guard, the tip aiming directly at the beast’s dead eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A few seconds passed when neither opponent moved.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, you’re ugly.” Harry remarked casually.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The fell beast roared and waved its wings. A spread of its razor-sharp feathers flew out. Harry expected this, however, and sidestepped one while deflecting the other. With a few lightning fast strides he was in reach, deflecting a lung by its beak, moving the blade to the high guard and then struck high from the right.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The beast was expecting this however, and dodged.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But it was merely a feint by Harry, who then changed the direction of the cut, striking from the left. The blade screeched on the metal-hard feathers and drew the first blood.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you like that Goblin Silver?” Harry asked with a hideous smile.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The beast merely hissed and lunged with its beak again before launching into a flurry of kicks.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry evaded and deflected, biding his time, retaliating with quick snap cuts whenever he could fit them into the rhythm.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>From guard to guard he moved, not once allowing the beast to touch him. He parried a quick strike aimed at his face, moving from the plow guard to the ox guard and then saw his chance.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Quicker than a basilisk, he struck, stabbing the gleaming, keen blade deep into the beast’s neck. He felt the spine being severed and saw the beast go limp.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, the faithful Sword of Gryffindor proved its worth, but now, with no more threat present, the sword vanished again, ready to come should the need arise.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And as the arena and the felled beast slowly vanished, Fleur ran to him, leading him to a small, crying bundle lying in the grass.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry watched Celeste, their daughter, move her cute little beak. A few downy feathers crowned her head. Overcome by tenderness, he turned to his wife.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“She looks just like you, my love.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. For One Fallen, a Hundred Arise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s Note: This drabble was written some time ago, inspired by discussions about Veelas having their specific culture.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>This was why he fought. Not for revenge, not for glory, not for some misguided sense of obligation to the wizarding world. No, Harry fought to stop things like that happening in the future. Were it under different circumstances, he would have wondered at the difference, tried to compare it to what he knew. Yet this, at this moment was all he knew. The sun reached its zenith.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On a raised dais, arrange in a small, decorative boat, laid the body of Boyana Belova, a distant cousin and close friend of Fleur Delacour, a proud, fierce and beautiful Veela. Her body and clothes arranged to show off the grievous wounds she suffered at the hands of Death Eaters. Were it a normal wizarding funeral, her robes would have been arranged to preserve her dignity, to hide her wounds, to spare the mourners the grisly sight. Not so here. Proudly her suffering was displayed. This she withstood. She did not break. Fleur publicly joined Harry in his fight against Voldemort, so they tried to subvert her family. Boyana was the only one who wasn’t in hiding. When cajoling and bribing did not work, they threatened her family. When the messenger bearing that message was returned to Voldemort a head shorter, they resorted to torture, trying to break her. She never did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now she lay there, in the Veela enclave where Harry and Fleur married, surrounded by her many friends and relatives. Fleur stood in front and intoned in her beautiful, brittle but steady voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Veliona, this one’s heart is pure, </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But beset by wickedness and hatred. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Guide her to where all hunters return, </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>where the lover never leaves, the hungry never starve. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Guide this one, Velu Mate, </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And she will be a companion to you as she was to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Having finished this, the surrounding Veela raised their voice in a keening wail as Fleur’s hand burst into blue flames. The purifying fire was allowed to jump onto Boyana’s ship and started consuming it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur stepped back, allowing the fire to grow and the mourners dispersed into smaller groups. Harry opened his arms, ready for Fleur to flow into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulders. He did not need to hear her sobs to know she was crying for her beloved friend, her form shaking with her sobs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a time they sat at a bench, both collapsed, emitting a bone-deep weariness. This was far from the first burial both had to attend. Fleur now stopped crying, Harry himself dried his tears, his face set into a grim visage.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So many have already fallen, Fleur. At the beginning I tried to learn everyone’s name, but…” Harry haltingly began, only to be firmly squeezed by his wife. “I am so sorry about her. I wish…” “Shh, my love,” Fleur put a finger to his lips. “Remember that we chose to enter this fight. We chose to stand with you, knowing the price would be steep.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a deep sigh, both fell silent again, waiting for the sun to set. The flames have died down, leaving only ashes of the once vibrant Boyana. The ashes have been carefully scooped up by four priestesses and with a slow chant, each priestess went in one cardinal direction, until, finally, they reached the boundary of the enclave. There, singing haunting hymns, they spread the ash, so that the memory of Boyana’s courage may guard the souls of Veela young and old.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now everyone stood gathered at the centre of the enclave again, yet the atmosphere changed. Where it was previously heavy with grief, now Harry felt as if the air was charged, shortly before an oncoming storm. In every pair of eyes, he saw a new fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From this tragedy, shown the way by the inspiring exemplar of courage, numerous fighters joined the struggle against Darkness.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Daughter of the Moon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s Note: This drabble came to me unbidden. I quite like the idea, so I may expand on it later, no promises, though.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-------(/\)-------</p><p> </p><p>The situation in Britain was growing ever darker. Despite Dumbledore’s and the Order’s best efforts, Voldemort was gaining ever more power. His ranks swelled and his key followers demonstrated powers never seen before, obviously being taught by their dark master. Harry and his friends, aside from studying, were doing their best to prepare for the coming tide of Darkness.</p><p> </p><p>Among said friends was also the enigmatic Fleur Delacour. Ever since the harrowing Tri-Wizard Tournament they have been friends. Tentative at first, their friendship quickly blossomed. Many in the castle cast envious glances at Harry and Fleur, asked him how he snatched the beautiful part-veela. And then they looked unbelievingly at him when told that there was only friendship between them. It was true that sometimes, there was a shade of longing in her gaze, an odd tone in her voice.</p><p> </p><p>However, despite spending much time either together or communicating through mail, despite getting to know each other well, they remained as “just” friends. And Harry valued her steadfast friendship, especially when she returned to Britain the next year to join the Order of the Phoenix. </p><p> </p><p>His friend worried him the last few days, seemingly nervous, casting furtive glances all around. And when he caught up to her in an abandoned classroom, the odd situation continued. She asked him whether he truly trusted her. At his firm confirmation she seemed to steel herself and asked him to meet her at the castle gates after dark.</p><p> </p><p>Bathed in the light of the crescent moon, Fleur led him to the Forbidden Forest, all the way hurriedly instructing him.</p><p> </p><p>“You will get on a strange path. Keep going, do not let yourself get distracted, Harry.” She squeezed his hand beseechingly. “You will be tested, challenged, you must never stray from the path. And when you get to the end…” She swallowed nervously, “Just be yourself. Be who I know you to be.”</p><p> </p><p>She led him to a small, curiously shaped lake in the forest. It was narrow and seemed bent like a bow. Before he could ask any questions, she gave him a sudden push. Instead of finding himself wet, he passed through the water. There was a flash of light and a twisting sensation. Suddenly, he found himself lying face-first on a cobbled path. Although he was still surrounded by trees, there could be no doubt. This was a different forest.</p><p> </p><p>The sounds were different, the trees more vibrant, the undergrowth deeper. And he felt observed. There were many eyes among the trees. Following his instincts and his friend’s instructions, he went on.</p><p> </p><p>Many challenges he faced, but he continued on, undeterred. Whispers, voices, shriek, all that tried to rattle him. Mist descended and tried to lead him astray. A pack of snarling wolves appeared to threaten him. Yet he had his trusty wand with him and so, be it with wits, courage or humility, he passed through unmolested.</p><p> </p><p>A unicorn joined him after some time and escorted him until he arrived at a gate of wrought silver. He spent a moment admiring the ornate leaves and decorations before his equine escort nudged him to open the gate.</p><p> </p><p>Inside he found a clear meadow with a familiar-looking lake in the shape of a crescent moon. It seemed to shine with its own silvery light, the water was clear and the bottom was of solid white marble. It was the wondrous figure standing on the shore, however, that caught his attention. Tall and graceful, she, for it was undeniably a she, wore a flowing bright white dress, her skin radiant. Her flowing locks resembled nothing more than moonbeams given substance, a silvery circlet rested on her head, putting the crest of the crescent moon in the middle of her forehead.</p><p> </p><p>She was familiar. This was Fleur. Fleur as he dreamed of her sometimes, but somehow more.</p><p> </p><p>Much like with Fleur, conversation between them started easily. She had the same speech pattern, the same mannerisms. And under the magical light of the unusually bright moon, they talked.</p><p> </p><p>She revealed her reasons for bringing him here, her story. It began when the world was much younger when hen her mother, the Faerie Queen and the future first Queen of Summer had her. It was not with her husband, though. For her sister, the jealous future Queen of Winter had played a cunning, twisted trick, beguiling and enchanting a young faerie knight to assume the form of the Faerie King and leading him to the Queen of Summer. It was at this lake where she was conceived.</p><p> </p><p>When the Faerie King found out, he was furious and cursed her to forever stay at the lake where she was conceived. The Queen’s sister was driven to exile with many of her followers going with her. The Faerie Court of Stars was sundered, forming the Summer and Winter Courts.</p><p> </p><p>Yet when the now Summer King’s rage cooled down, compassion took hold of his heart. Though unable to lift his curse, he amended it, she would be free when she could freely give her heart to a suitor worthy of her hand.</p><p> </p><p>Though imprisoned here, her mother taught her much and her powers were not to be denied. When she was scrying to experience the world at least in such a limited way, she found the Delacours, Apolline was a descendant of a Summer courtier. She and her husband were good people and had been trying for a child for years. Finally, Apolline had been with child, but she could see it would have been born stillborn. And so, utilizing all her mother had taught her, she sent a sliver of herself into the baby. And so Fleur was born, alive and well, carrying her in her head and heart. Through Fleur, she got to experience the love of a family, the joys and grief of a mortal life. And she had met Harry.</p><p> </p><p>In this lengthy conversation, another revelation shook Harry. The secret of Voldemort’s newfound power and prowess was a deal he struck with the Winter Court and various beings of the Nether Realms. By doing this, he became her bitter enemy too, for she harboured deep enmity for the Winter Court. And so, she offered him a pact. She would lend him her favour, a sliver of her non-negligible power. And he would go and defeat his foe. In doing so, he would undeniably prove himself worthy in the eyes of the ancient curse.</p><p> </p><p>Should he succeed, she vowed to him, she would join him, bind herself to him in good and bad. Fleur, he was assured, would go on with her life, still his friend, and live long and prosper.</p><p> </p><p>At her gesture, the luminous water rippled until it seethed and boiled. A pearlescent hilt with a coin-shaped pommel bearing the crescent crest, rose slowly from the water, followed by a gleaming, milky white blade, keener than any weapon of mortal make. “So? Will you take up the sword?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Three Trials of the Veela</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s Note: This drabble was born from musings about how a Veela wedding could look like. I’ve tried to make it quite distinct and hopefully interesting.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harry and Fleur have been together for some time, the world around them grew increasingly dark and harsh, but they had each other and their loved ones and it was enough. They overcame the darkness. And Harry, after very careful consideration and many debates with Fleur, Apolline and Mr. Delacour (How is he gonna be named?) finally decided to propose. Just like a relationship with a Veela was far from ordinary, in many ways scary yet oh so fulfilling, Veela bonding rites were unusual. When Harry asked the important question, Fleur looked deep into his eyes, as if judging his soul, and with a serious mien nodded once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They went to the Veela enclave from which Apolline originally came. There they announced their intent. Quickly a group of elders came and separated them. Both Harry and Fleur went through ritual cleansing and much preparation, until, after a few days, they were ready and brought into a circular arena.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There Harry and Fleur stood, facing each other and surrounded by grim looking Veela elders and hopeful young Veela. Fleur looked magnificent in white robes that did nothing to hide her lithe figure. She stood resplendent and surrounded with soft silvery glow. It was difficult to keep his wits about him when she turned her focus on him. The glow intensified, her hair seemingly moving on its own as if in a soft breeze. She started a sensuous, slow dance, her glow seeming to hit even his peripheral vision, forcing him to focus on this vision of loveliness. He had the urge to boast of having beaten some of the worst dark wizards Europe has ever produced, of driving away monsters that leave lesser men trembling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet he knew no such boasting was needed, for Fleur has stood with him throughout it all. He shook his head and simply smiled at his beloved. The circle of elders all bowed their heads. “The Trial of Will you have passed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now both Harry and Fleur dropped into combat stances, wands appearing in their hands. A fast and furious duel ensued, with the elders having to strain their considerable magic to protect the onlookers. The fight was truly fierce, both combatants so fast their wands seemed to blur, eldritch lightning whipping the arena. Fleur, lithe, fast and agile, fighting with grace, Harry fast, direct and brutal, hammering her with unrelenting intensity. Finally Fleur let go of her wand, feathers sprouting on her trembling arms, her lovely face gaining a sharp beak, she spread her scaly wings and, talons extended, dove for Harry. Harry didn’t waste time and prepared himself for the onslaught. Though he suffered quite a few scratches, he managed to avoid the beak and flames. Through a combination of speed, agility and technique, he brought Fleur down, both combatants panting fiercely. Again, the circle of elders bowed their head, this time with much respect. “The Trial of Might you have passed. The Trial of Devotion awaits.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both Harry and Fleur, still panting, locked gazes, Harry’s green into Fleur’s birdlike eyes. Up close, he felt Fleur’s taut muscles, yet also her soft curves. He was also painfully aware of his own hardness and knew that it would be impossible for Fleur to miss. Even transformed, Fleur was extremely desirable. As both his and her hands moved to remove what remained of their garments, Harry’s lips found a pulse point on her neck just as her incredible heat engulfed him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Harry and Fleur became one in a ritual both animalistic and beautiful, the Veela elders smirked knowingly. “The Trial of Devotion you have passed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young Veela whooped and cheered as Fleur’s beak left a bloody wound on his shoulder that seemed to hiss and burn. Yet the only thing Harry noticed was the gorgeous Veela, his gorgeous Veela, his Flower, expressing the most primal of needs. He met her and matched her move for move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few moments later…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Veela elders surrounded the newly bound, happily exhausted couple and turned to the gathered denizens of the enclave. “Fleur and Harry now belong to each other. They are thrice bound!” Cheers erupted from the audience and Harry and Fleur exchanged adoring smiles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bound by Love!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Love!” Echoed the audience. “Love!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry blushed slightly when Fleur pecked him on the cheek. Irrational, considering the show they have given them, but love is nothing if not irrational.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The elders continued, “Bound by Magic!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Magic!” The audience echoed again. “Magic!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A tingle went through Harry’s shoulder and Fleur too slightly shuddered. Harry well remembered the marks he himself left on her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bound by Rite!” the elders’ voice boomed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rite! Rite!” The audience erupted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let none split the couple thrice bound. And Gods have mercy on anyone foolish enough to try! Because the Veela will show them NONE!” The last words were practically roared and Harry felt goosebumps as the audience started cheering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“NONE! NO MERCY!” The cheerful voices of the gathered Veela were a stark contrast to the message conveyed and even Fleur proudly preened. Harry would have her no other way.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Ritual after Childbirth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s Note: This very short drabble is how I imagine a Veela couple welcoming their child (chicklet?) into the world.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>-------(/\)-------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry was ecstatic, just two days ago, his and Fleur’s daughter entered this world. She was beautiful, amazing, beyond words, as it often is when it comes to fathers describing their first child. She was perfect, from her charming little beak to her delicate little wings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now she rested in a crib in their quarters at Hogwarts castle with Fleur excitedly watching over her while Harry tried to focus on teaching his students. They too sensed his nervous energy and many, especially the younger students, were jubilant too, sharing in that joyous moment. Finally, his lessons ended for the day and he rushed to his quarters. Upon entering he did a double-take, it seemed that in his absence Fleur did some redecorating. There was now much more space around the crib, enough for a few people to dance around it. A few feet from the crib Harry spotted a new trapezoidal table.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fleur explained to him that it was in preparation for a tradition among the Veela, one of the oldest that all Veela families carried with them wherever they went. She would need his help to prepare the room, for on the dawn of the third day since childbirth, the room would have to be prepared and only their darling daughter would be allowed to reside there. Long candles would be lit around the crib and bread, cheese, salt and porridge with honey would be prepared on the new table, along with their daughter’s first feather. The food would be to welcome the Orisnici, the fates that would come to examine their child. The feather a sacrifice to them. They would measure their daughter’s life and decide what gifts she would be blessed with, accompanied by dancing around her. Harry, long used to unusual magical traditions simply smiled at his darling wife and went to help.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next day, he could swear he noticed a flash of three, white-clad figures, three maids, leaving the room, smiling at the proud parents.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Spring Equinox</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s Note: This is a little drabble exploring how the Spring Equinox could be celebrated at a Veela Enclave.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>-------(/\)-------</p><p> </p><p>Harry and Fleur gently smiled at each other as they observed their exuberant daughter running around their house near the Veela enclave. Tomorrow would be a great celebration, Winter’s End, the Great Night, the Red Holiday. In the end, they managed to get her to sleep and both went to their shared bed. The next morning they were awakened by their daughter jumping on them. The whole family went to the near stream, to a place of confluence of several minor streams. With Sun’s first rays they have arrived and, in silence, they proceeded to wash themselves in the cold water. When they finished, as the sun rose higher, their daughter grabbed their hands and dragged them to the nearest pussy willow. It took them some time to gather the four branches that seemed just right. Those would be put into the four corners of their garden to protect the next harvest. Next came a part that their daughter perhaps enjoyed the least, the spring cleaning of their house, each of them looking for something they no longer needed. They all found a trinket they wouldn’t mind getting rid of and went to the enclave’s centre. There a large pyre was being built, with both large logs and tiny kindling. And every person in the enclave added one thing from their home to that pyre. Next to it, a group of Veelas were preparing an effigy, dressing it in a white dress and ribbons, decorating it with a necklace of beads made from emptied eggs.</p><p> </p><p>The children’s favourite part came next since the young men of the enclave came with their arms full of young willows twigs, all long and springy. Every person proceeded to grab one and what can only be described as a free-for-all descended on the Enclave. From the smallest child to the most venerable of Priestesses, everyone tried to give every other person’s behind at least one good thwack with the willow twig. Cheers and laughter erupted around the enclave as the great Spring Chase happened. Grudges, dignity, all was forgotten in this ancient rite of rejuvenation. Eventually, the women and children departed to their homes while the menfolk gathered the twigs in the best condition and each man started braiding them into a springy willow whip. They then put a few colourful ribbons at one end and held the other. When they were finished, the men followed their wives, girlfriends or mothers and sisters. Harry entered his home to hear his giddy daughter giggling while Fleur seemed to be defending the kitchen with her own body. It was time for another rite. While reciting traditional poetry, Harry started gently smacking Fleur’s delectable backside. Each swing of the springy willow whip supposed to help keep Fleur youthful and fresh. As Harry finished, Fleur quickly grabbed him by the collar and kissed him, while their daughter giggled behind her hand. This rite finished, the family grabbed the food Fleur with her daughter’s “assistance” prepared while Harry was braiding.</p><p> </p><p>Again, the inhabitants of the enclave gathered at the centre where they prepared long tables and benches so everybody could fit in. Every family brought food, every person in the enclave contributed to this communal feast. The tables were decorated with coloured eggs and willow twigs bearing golden catkins. Everybody had enough to eat to enjoy the day, music started playing and the feast slowly transformed into a party with dancing and storytellers. As the sun was nearing the horizon, people starting chanting. “Morena! Burn her! Burn Morena!” With Sun’s last rays, the effigy of Morena, the personification of Winter and Death, was put on the pyre and the fire was lit. The inhabitants still played music, lively tunes on fiddles, flutes, bagpipes and other instruments and danced merrily around the pyre. Finally, the celebrations ended, Harry (carrying his exhausted daughter) and Fleur returned to their home, put their daughter into her bed, activated the monitoring charms and stood in the door of their own bedroom. “Let me show you ‘ow youthful and fresh I am, ‘usband.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s Note: This is a continuation in theme. This time it is focused on the celebration of Summer Solstice. As always, I recommend checking out the Harry/Fleur Discord Server (discord．gg/Np2zjAH).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>-------(/\)-------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was the first year Harry and Fleur were spending at the Veela Enclave they have moved to, seeking a quiet and peaceful place to live. They got their wish and Harry was quite surprised at how quickly they were accepted as part of the community. The women welcomed Fleur with squeals, hugs and kisses, while the menfolk have just nodded respectfully at Harry and invited him to the pub for a round. Now the summer solstice has come and Harry and Fleur were spending the day cooking and baking, preparing food for the evening celebration. The whole Enclave was preparing, every family taking part. Afternoon soon came and it was time. It took quite some effort to carry all the prepared food outside, to the edge of the Enclave, where long tables with preserving charms were prepared, at the edge of a forest. One smaller hut stood nearby, close to a wooden podium, surrounded by cleared out space. Several pyres were prepared, one rather large while others looked to be made for a campfire. Finally, it was time to begin as all the people gathered. First, one family after the other, they entered the nearby stream, symbolically bathing themselves. Then, maidens with wreaths of flowers went around, carrying bowls of burning incense and feathers, going around each person, cleansing them by smoke. Now came the part Harry considered a bit crazy. Everyone started clapping and cheering and people split into groups, each going to one of the smaller fires. One by one, they all proceeded to jump over the fire. Thus everyone was thrice cleansed, by water, smoke and fire. For the next part, each of the young flower-crowned maidens went into the forest and the others started trickling after them. When Harry found one of the young priestesses, she smiled at him and bade him to choose three herbs from the selection she had at her feet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The divination was a strange experience for Harry, who was used to Trelawney’s theatrics. None of that was present here, only him, the priestess and the nature all around. Still, in these humble conditions, Harry felt watched by mysterious forces more than whenever Trelawney predicted his future. He vowed to remember this for as long as he could as he returned to the area of the celebration. Now came one of the parts everyone was looking forward to, they sat down to the tables, drank a toast to everyone’s good fortune and started eating the delicious feast. Musicians stepped to the podium and soon the cheerful tunes of flutes and strings, accompanied by drums and singing kept everyone’s mood up. Several times they took breaks, even musicians had to eat. As there was less and less food, more people were getting up, in pairs, in groups and started dancing to the music, who wasn’t dancing was at least clapping, cheering and singing. Fleur dragged Harry to the whirling mass of people. While it seemed like nobody followed the same steps, there were no collisions, only good cheer and laughter. As the hour grew late, the songs became bawdier and the dancing wilder. Quite often Harry beheld a flash of feathers as dancing was often accompanied by significant looks, stolen kisses and gropes. Suddenly, however, the musicians grew silent and vacated the podium only to stand next to it. A pair of figures, a silvery blonde woman in a dress of yellow, red and orange and in a mask resembling the plumage of a phoenix stepped on the podium from the right while a man in a blue, brown and green robe, tied together with a snake-like belt, wearing a black and blue mask, stepped on the podium from the left. The musicians started again, slowly, while everyone started clapping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A ritual dance began, the masked figures circling each other and taking turns singing. It was a dance of courting, of seduction, and as both dancers grew more daring, the audience clapped faster and faster. As the clapping grew into a crescendo, the man grabbed the woman while Harry could see feathers sprouting on her shoulders. A searing kiss followed, then both dancers took off their masks, throwing them to the audience. The man grabbed his wife (always a married couple was chosen for this honour), lifted her into his arms and carried her to the nearby prepared hut. As they stepped of the podium, her wings obscuring them from view. Even over the sound of cheering and loud music, Harry could hear the sounds of vigorous lovemaking and a Veela’s triumphant screeching. The dancing grew frenetic now, over half of the women at least sporting feathers and various couples leaving the main group to find a secluded spot. Just as his neighbour grabbed his laughing wife and threw her over his shoulder, Harry felt a tug on his hand. Looking at Fleur and seeing her bird-like gaze, he couldn’t resist, as she dragged him to a comfy looking meadow, her outstretched wings tickling his nose.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Day of Open Gates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s Note: I’m continuing the series of ideas for various traditions in the Veela community. This time, let’s focus on autumn, especially around the time of the equinox. Unlike spring and summer, I tried to make it intimate, focused on family, so no feasts and bonfires this time. Instead, let’s read about the Day of Open Gates.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>-------(/\)-------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry, Fleur and their seven years old daughter woke up late that day. And no wonder, it wasn’t that long since the Harvest Moon festival. A fortnight lasting feast and dance, that sounded great and they definitely had fun, but they were paying the price now. Still, today, at the end of October, was an important day. Harry regretfully disentangled himself from his wife’s feathery embrace, not an easy task, since she added her wings to the mix. However, they had to prepare. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a quick breakfast, accompanied by their daughter’s pouting, and proper hygiene, they set to be about their tasks, Harry cooking and baking and Fleur and their daughter carving out beet lanterns. Today, especially the baking was something Harry paid special attention to since the pastries had to have a special shape. After some usual playful banter, a bit of running and a whole lot of pouting, Fleur and their daughter have also finished their task, carving out five beet lanterns. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Around noon they had a filling lunch that Harry had prepared and Fleur went to gather the portraits. They were stills, showing James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Fleur’s cousin Boyana Belova and Fleur’s maternal grandfather Gerard. They set up the portraits in a semicircle in the living room and lit a candle for each person. After that, the family put the candles into the lanterns and left each one behind a different window. The entrance to the house would remain open for the remainder of the day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry prepared the furniture while Fleur went to fetch drinks. Today, they would need them. And then the family of three sat down in front of the portraits and Fleur went on to tell the stories of her grandfather. Recalling the good times, the fun and the bad, Fleur painted a vivid picture of the memorable man. A cosy atmosphere filled the house, the wind seeming to gently embrace the family.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so the afternoon went on, filled with stories of the departed, of family members whose names would be remembered. Fleur and Harry switched places from time to time, when the other needed a rest from storytelling, while their daughter sat, rapt with attention, trying to absorb as much as she could. She didn’t even notice when her mother went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As always, when called for food, their daughter squealed and proceeded to hug both of her parents. This time, the table laden with food was expanded, five more places were prepared, a dish of deliciously smelling food ready at each one. As they explained to their daughter, today they would welcome any visitors. Dinner, as usual, went swimmingly, filled with banter and laughter (and some food throwing too) and then it was time to check on the lanterns. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So the three went around the house, checking that every candle was still lit. Their daughter made sure to wave at the portraits whenever she ran by. Finally, they returned to their dining room. Their daughter gasped, all the food was eaten. As a smiling Fleur ushered her to the living room, Harry smiled affectionately as he noticed what looked like a muddy paw-print of a large dog under one chair and a white lily petal near one of the plates. On this night, the gates of the underworld were open, and the deceased were free to visit their loved ones, as long as they were remembered.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. No Surrender!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s Note: This drabble is a bit darker than my usual fare. War is a nasty business and I believe Voldemort would not be above using such tactics. We, muggles, certainly weren’t. Another inspiration for this piece were certain people I know, who also suffered through no fault of their own, and even today they still fight with the consequences of what happened to them. Yet they do not give up and fight every day. My deepest respect.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>-------(/\)-------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The war turned nasty with casualties mounting on both sides. It took much manoeuvring by the participants, much grief caused and many friends lost, but now the final battle had come. Voldemort had them cornered, besieged at Hogwarts. They held out, but the Dark Lord did what he did best, using a mysterious Curse, he engulfed the castle in a sinister miasma. The Defenders seemed to waste away and decompose and they started falling one by one. A desperate struggle  followed and Hermione in a rush researched and developed an enchantment to stop the spread of the unknown Curse. The Defenders knew they were under some form of surveillance, but they also knew they couldn’t hold out against another attack of such magnitude. So they used the surveillance against Voldemort, arranging a trap for him, making it seem that all the defenders fell. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Voldemort and his Death Eaters took the bait and entered the castle. While the Dark Lord strode confidently on, the Death Eaters seemed unnerved as they walked through the hallway with dead, decomposing bodies lining the walls. Then, to their horror, their enemies who held out for so long, having mercilessly cut scores of them down, suddenly revived. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The dead bodies stirred, standing up and attacking with unmatched ferocity. The fury of the attack was such that the Death Eaters, who actually outnumbered the defenders, panicked and either fell or ran away. Yet even that fighting could not compare to the ferocious exchange between Voldemort and the leader of the Defenders, Harry Potter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like lightning in a storm, blazing, sizzling curses crossed the room between them, both combatants sporting numerous wounds now. The eldritch fire lit up the courtyard, reminiscent of fireworks, but each light was a deadly curse, containing the focused, murderous wrath of both fighters. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite being hit by numerous curses, Harry bared his teeth in a predatory grimace. He wouldn’t surrender, no, and increased the speed and ferocity of his casting, striking fear into his foe. Finally, Voldemort fell to his knees, his hands clutching his throat, as he gurgled, drowning in his own blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Curse you, Harry Potter!” He hissed and breathed his last. His magic, following the Dark Lord’s last wish, blasted Harry and he collapsed too. He was rushed to the Hospital Wing, with Fleur Delacour, his right hand, at his side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-------(/\)-------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The healers now fight to save his life from the horrifying mixture of curses he was hit with. The fight is long, yet the healers persevere, bringing Harry from the brink several times. They remove and disentangle the curses one by one and manage to save Harry. Most of him. It pains Fleur in a way she struggles to comprehend as she watches the healers amputate both of Harry’s legs below the knees. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the days to come, the healers watch Harry carefully and there are many emergencies as his body fights the lingering remnants of Voldemort’s malicious magic. At least four times the healers had to rush in and perform an emergency operation, including cutting open his skull. But even so, Harry Potter is a fighter and he refuses to give up, even with a piece of metal now substituting a part of his skull.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, days later, as Fleur is waiting by Harry’s bedside, still recovering from her own wounds, Harry stirs and opens his eyes. In a flash, Fleur holds his hand and exclaims her joy. Harry seems confused, however. “F-Fleur?” his voice rasps, “Why can’t I see you?”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Ancient Traditions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Author’s Note: This drabble was inspired by a somewhat dark discussion on the Flowerpot Discord (discord．gg/v5Ugbdzx) and is pretty dark itself. Beware.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>-------(/\)-------</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Harry Potter was a disappointment to many people. Though somewhat diligent as a student, his magical prowess was often unreliable and mediocre compared to his parents. Though it seemed that he had moments of brilliance when pressed, such as his Patronus, in everyday life, it was as if his magic was feeble. None felt this way more than Harry himself, often frustrated at his lack of progress.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, he competed valiantly in the Triwizard Tournament and very much enjoying the camaraderie that came to be between the Champions. Even though the ending of the Tournament proved to be a tragedy, with Cedric dying and Voldemort coming back, Harry ended the year with more friends than he started.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>His next year, however, proved to be much more frustrating, with almost everybody seemingly turning against him. It was his friends, both at Hogwarts and abroad, that kept him sane. And from those, Viktor wrote him regularly, the two exchanging tips on both flying and duelling, and Fleur, she made good on her promise and moved to England. Knowledgeable in charms and curses, she was employed by the Goblins.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>And it was in a letter to Fleur that Harry admitted to his frustrations, fears and worries. Fleur proved both understanding and curious, and promised Harry to research the problem. It was during a Hogsmeade weekend that Fleur took Harry aside and asked for his permission to examine him thoroughly. It was a strange, intimate experience, feeling Fleur’s magic roll over him, gentle, soothing, warm. Fleur, however, was anything by calm, her eyes widening in alarm.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“’Arry,” she breathed out, “you-you bear curses. Many curses.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Somebody cursed me?” Harry’s voice shook with indignation.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Non, not you.” Fleur sighed and waved her wand once more. “It is your magic, your name, your family, that bears the curses.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Indignation forgotten, Harry was now puzzled.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Magic,” Fleur said and wetted her lips, “it stays in families, non?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nodded, he had learned and observed that much.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur looked him over once again and continued, noting various details of how Harry held himself. “Magic stays in families, it gets refined with each generation, better at protecting the family.” At Harry’s indignant look, she put a finger to his lips. “I know what you want to say. Non, muggleborn witches and wizards are just as strong. Family magic,” she shrugged, the resultant movement causing colour to rise to Harry’s cheeks, “it ‘elps protect the children, keeps the family healthy, it can even bless the family, like your friend Ronald’s family.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry was suddenly unsure as Fleur looked directly into his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And family magic can be injured, cursed, like yours was.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“H-how? How can you injure magic?” Harry stammered out.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Unavenged insults to the whole family can cause a small wound.” Fleur put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “That is why many hesitate to insult a whole family. It is serious and can result in revenge. The family magic requires retribution.” She squeezed his shoulder. “But other attacks on the family, betrayals, it all can cause harm to the magic…” She trailed off as Harry slouched.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“And, well, my family…” Harry began tentatively. “I am now the last.” He growled now, growing angry. “Wormtail!”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There were indeed betrayals that his family suffered, and the Potter magic, now weak and feeble, cried out in vain. Cried for retribution.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>In the following weeks, Harry gritted his teeth in frustration at every insult levelled at ‘Potter’, yet he knew he could not afford to retaliate, with Umbridge watching his every move and the Inquisitorial Squad waiting for any chance to cause him trouble. Snape too now found himself the target of cold, hateful green eyes, his scathing remarks about anything Potter now being answered not by defiant stares, no.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was during the Occlumency lessons, however, when the situation escalated. Harry took a glimpse into Snape’s pensieve and what he found there, not only his father tormenting Snape, but also the memories of the hated potions professor telling Voldemort of an overheard prophecy and of the Potters’ child. His blood boiling, Harry contacted Fleur who had been doing research into methods of retribution that would satisfy Family Magic.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>After careful planning and much further research, they now found themselves in Gloucestershire, near the village of Stinchcombe. The village had changed its location slightly over the centuries. Where they stood now, close to an ancient oak tree, the village stood in the past. And the tree itself, that was the tree planted when the first Potters have settled down there. Harry felt his magic react to being close to the ancient tree. Its branches were now mostly bare, the tree looking quite sad, as if it suffered through many misfortunes, much like the family it was bound to.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur accompanied him and there was a third person with them, the bound and unconscious Severus Snape.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur’s silvery hair contrasted with the simple pure black robe she wore, illuminated by a torch she held in her left hand. The torch, however, was not the only source of light as she herself glowed gentle silver, looking akin to an ancient Goddess of the forest.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She began to sing, an ancient song in an ancient tongue, one she had meticulously researched and learned by heart.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Harry, meanwhile, approached the oak, a ceremonial knife in hand. As he got close enough to touch its bark, he cut his hand and let a drop of his blood fall in the soil containing the Potter Oak’s roots.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“After years apart,” Harry intoned, “we are reunited.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>A gust of wind ruffled their hair and the remaining leaves rustled.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“A wayward son returns,” he continued, “Home.” The last word left him as a mere breath, his heart almost skipping a beat.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Many injustices we have suffered.” Harry’s voice rose, still accompanied by the haunting song of the beautiful, glowing figure behind him. “After years, the retribution shall happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He pressed his bloodied palm to the trunk, feeling the tree pulse under his touch. “By blood shall blood be repaid. That is the Old Way.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>While trilling in her lilting voice, Fleur revived the Potions Professor, motioning Harry to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Snape, still groggy, found himself dragged closer to the tree. As Potter cut his binding, he felt himself being lifted by an incredible force, while Fleur’s song was now accompanied by the cracking of wood. With no small amount of fear, Snape realised he was being held up, arms and legs spread apart, by the branches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Potter?” He growled, defaulting to anger when dealing with his least favoured student. “Cease your foolishness…” He was stopped by a harsh backhanded strike to the face.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Silence, dog.” Potter’s eyes seemed to burn green in the night and Snape paled, seeing icy hatred in Lily’s eyes. “Your only purpose here is to die by my hand.” And to ensure that Snape would speak no more, Potter reached with a sure hand into his mouth, grabbing his tongue. A moment of searing pain followed as Potter removed his tongue with one swift cut.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The air was now thick with primal magic, accompanied by swift, almost orgasmic sounding chanting and the resonance between Harry and the Potter Oak, while Snape screamed incoherently. The branches around his pain-wracked body tightened even further as if the tree knew that a sworn enemy of its family was within its reach.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“An enemy I have brought forth,” Harry now intoned, waving the knife above his head. “He who sought to bring the Potters to ruin.” The branches around Snape’s body tightened further, squeezing rather painfully. “Blood he spilled, blood he shall shed.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur’s song continued in its frenetic tempo, her voice rising and falling, conjuring images of ancient demons flitting around the tree. Harry took a fortifying breath and approached the wide-eyed Snape. The blade fell, rending Snape’s flesh, cutting his belly open.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Death he wished on us!” Harry screamed while widening the cut. “For death he shall wish!”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Harry stepped back, his grisly work finished, it looked as if the ancient oak came truly alive in the night, groaning and creaking. Resembling the tentacles of the Giant Squid, numerous branches rushed to the gaping wound Harry inflicted. Snape’s pained, frantic shrieks were silenced as the branch around his neck tightened further. And so, before Harry’s eyes, the ancient oak continued, each branch impaling a different innard and dragging them out. The magic of this ritual would ensure that Snape would survive this, even as his organs were now strewn around the crown of the Potter Oak, resembling rather gruesome decorations.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“For your transgressions against the Potters,” Harry almost sang the last part of the ritual while pointing the bloodied at Snape’s now glassy-eyed face. “You shall be judged.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur’s song ended with a shriek so high no human throat should be rightfully able to emit. Now the only sound in the night was the cracking and creaking of the tree and the barely perceptible hum of ancient magic. And then, it happened, the branches started moving again, working in a rhythm, however, the strangest sight was yet to come. Snape’s body shook and looked to be shrinking. In fact, it looked to be collapsing into itself, as the tree absorbed what water it could. Then even the now dry, desiccated matter disappeared, being absorbed by the tree which now looked much better, healthier and stronger than when they started.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur quickly moved to Harry, whom she noticed falling to his knees. He was panting, his eyes seemed black as his irises covered his pupils.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“’Arry!” She shook him in alarm.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, Fleur,” he breathed out, “fine. I felt it. It worked.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure, ‘Arry?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Certain.” He tried to calm his breathing. “It-it is unlike anything I have ever felt.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Fleur helped him to his feet and they both now looked at the tree. There were no signs of Severus Snape.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“As the tree absorbed him, I felt the magic. Distant and close. New, but it had been with me the whole time.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“That is family magic, ‘Arry.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it was nice to finally feel it.” He nodded. “But I also felt it judge him. He caused us so much harm. Some of it was healed tonight.” Tears were in his eyes. “But there is so much more, so many wounds. And until they are all healed, Snape will live on, the magic feeding on him, on his soul.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“There are more who caused even more hurt, Fleur.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The magic cried for retribution.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
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